


letters i'll never send

by xxPayne



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPayne/pseuds/xxPayne
Summary: dear beth...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really sorry if you followed me for stranger things or 1d fic sjdskjs this is what you're getting now lmao
> 
>  
> 
> i'm posting a sims story at softpine.tumblr.com if you wanna come check it out!!

_ May 25, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

I’ve never had a diary before. The thought of writing to myself — or to someone that doesn’t exist and never will — sounds pretty fucking pathetic. But maybe it won’t be so bad if I pretend I’m talking to you. Or does that make it worse? I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know anything anymore.

Right now we’re at a gas station outside of Ramona. I thought it would be hotter. The car says it’s 80° out, but there’s no humidity, not like summers in the Bay. Fuck, you remember that time when it got so hot and sticky that we filled the tub with ice water, put on our bathing suits, and sat in it for hours? God, we stayed in there so long that I couldn’t move my legs — you had to carry me out. Well, I have something to confess. My legs were fine, I just wanted you to baby me.

Anyway, we’re at a gas station. It’s funny how they all look the same. No matter where you go, they always feel familiar. Like home. Do I have a home anymore? Maybe my home is in that gas station, standing at the counter, paying for my beef jerky and Redbull.  Maybe my home is the person who will never read this.

 

Love,

The homeless.

 

—

 

_ May 25, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Yeah, it’s me again. Sorry. Who knew roadtrips were so fucking boring? I keep asking Danny if he wants me to take a turn driving, but he says he’s fine. That’s good and all, but I’m dying over here. There’s only so much pop radio I can handle. Wish I could call you… But I don’t know what I would even say. “I’m sorry that I made you kiss me out of pity”? “I’m sorry that I ruined the best friendship that I ever had and ever will”? “I’m sorry that I didn’t say goodbye”? It’s all true, but I think I still have too much pride to tell you that.

Shit, I gotta go, Danny wants to switch now.

 

Love,

Already sick of beef jerky.

 

—

 

_ May 26, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

We slept in the weirdest fucking motel last night. It was so weird that I wanted to turn right back around as soon as we stepped inside, but Danny said we could pay extra for a room on the second floor — apparently those are safer. I guess the hotel itself wasn’t weird, it was the people. They all looked dead inside. Really, truly, dead inside. The man at the front desk said, “It’s a beautiful day out there, isn’t it?” while the rain was pounding against the roof and the thunder was shaking the fucking foundations. I kept saying maybe they’re ghosts or possessed by demons or something, and Danny kept saying it’s some Norman Bates shit (by the way, I think he’s already missing movie nights with you). I guess we were both wrong, because by the time we checked out and hit the road again, we were still alive and well.

I don’t know if I still believe in ghosts. What if all along they were just people, like these ones? People who lost too much of themselves... People who have forgotten what it means to be happy, to be human. Maybe we’re all ghosts.

 

Love,

The ghost eating beef jerky (again).

 

—

  
  
  


_ May 29, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Oh, so we made it to Del Sol Valley. We saw all the shiny, flashing lights, the neon signs, the huge, glittering skyscrapers — And then we got back in the car and drove away. The cheapest fucking apartment we could find was two thousand dollars a month, and when we went to go check it out, there was a man standing near the front door who looked right in my eyes and said “Someone needs a good spanking”. He looked me right in the eyes and said that, Beth. Whatever. So we turned right around and drove all the way back to Ashbrook. Two whole fucking hours away. I guess this is where dreams go to die. I don’t want to give up yet, but we just signed on for a six month lease, so I guess we’ll be here awhile. I hope the failure isn’t contagious.

 

Love,

So far away.

 

—

 

_ May 31, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

I cracked and looked you up on twitter today. I guess you haven’t been online either. I hope you’re okay.

 

Love,

The lonely.

 

—

  
  


_ June 19, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

It’s been awhile. I haven’t had any time to myself, and my hands are covered in blisters, so I hope you appreciate the pain I’m suffering through just to write this. Okay, I’m being a little dramatic. But jesus fucking christ, I never knew what hard work was until I started working at “You’ve Got: Maids”. Yeah, I can’t make that shit up. Since I’m not 18 yet, and they don’t want to follow labor laws for minors, I get paid under the table like the rest of the immigrants. Everyone thinks I’m one too, just because I can speak Spanish. I don’t care enough to correct them. Anyway, if things go right, I’ll be out of here on August 16th.

I know you probably don’t care about this, but you’re not really reading this. So fuck it, I’ll tell you anyway. Danny is great. I couldn’t do this without him. Sometimes I get scared that I’ll have to someday. His job is fucking scary, Beth. He’s one of those construction workers that you see dangling off of buildings and walking across planks like it’s a fucking tightrope. Doing the things no one else wants to do. All it takes is one slip, and… Fuck, I don’t want to think about it.

This is maybe my worst letter yet. Sorry. But hey, at least we have a savings account now.

 

Love,

Making moves.

 

—

  
  


_ June 21, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

GUESS WHAT? I got my first audition!

I was walking home and saw this flier taped to the wall. “Casting Call — looking for female lead, aged 16 - 18, intimidating & small.” Is that me or what? Danny’s gonna come with me, in case it’s a scam or something. Also to support me, but mostly to protect me. He’s kinda buff as hell now… Construction work is good for something, I guess.

 

Love,

Fucking hyped.

—

 

_ June 22, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

They went in a “different direction”.

 

Love,

I don’t fucking know anymore.

 

—

 

June 30, 2019.

Dear Beth,

Hey, are you okay? I know you can’t answer this, but it feels good to ask. I hope you’re okay. I talk about myself so much, and I don’t know shit about what you’re doing. I guess you graduated by now. I’m really proud of you. Who would have thought that of the three of us, only one would finish high school? … Well, maybe that’s not actually a surprise.

Anyway, I’m just asking because you haven’t been on twitter or instagram since, well, you know. Not even a “yay I graduated” post. You deserve a “yay I graduated” post…

 

Love,

Missing you.

 

—

  
  


July 4, 2019.

Dear Beth,

I’m about to get hammered!!! I’ll pour one out for you.

 

Love,

America sucks but I’ll take any excuse to get drunk on the beach.

  
  


—

 

_ July 8, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

I’m in the emergency room with Danny right now. He’s asleep, or I wouldn’t even be writing this. He fell at work, just like I knew he would someday. Fuck. He tripped off a scaffolding, hit his head, and tore his leg open on a nail. One of the guys had to carry him to the truck, he couldn’t even walk. I guess he passed out and everything. I feel bad for saying this, but fuck, I’m so glad I wasn’t there. I can’t see him like that, I can barely see him like this, all bandaged up and concussed and everything. It helps that as soon as he woke up, he started asking me to design him a tattoo to cover up the scar… I don’t know how he stays so positive. Every day gets worse and worse.

 

Love,

The pessimist.

 

—

  
  


_ July 22, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Hey, you finally posted. Jesus, I’m sorry I sound like such a creep. How’s that song go? “I’m a creeeeep. I’m a weirdooo. What the hell am I doing here?” I can relate.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m glad Newcrest University knows what’s up. You’re gonna kick ass in that ballet program, Bethy. I’m really happy for you.

 

Love,

The proud ex-best friend. (That hurt.)

 

—

 

_ July 24, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

I heard Danny talking to you on the phone yesterday. I didn’t know you still talked. It sounded so easy… “Hey Beth, what’s up?” and “Oh shit, really? Congrats!” and “I wish we could too…” and “What even happened between you?” and “Sorry, I know it’s not my place.” and “Yeah, I’m doing better, I went back to work the next day...” and “Yeah, yeah, thanks,  _ Mom _ .” and “Talk to you soon. Take care of yourself, Beth.”

I felt so stupid, pressing up against the door, trying to hear every word. I wish he would’ve put it on speaker… Then again, hearing your voice would only make this harder. Maybe it’s for the best that we haven’t spoken.

 

Love,

The fly on the wall.

  
  


—

 

_ August 16, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

It’s my birthday. I cried in the shower this morning and thought about running away. I’m apparently great at it. Or really, really bad. I don’t know.

But then I went downstairs. Danny made me homemade pancakes (from scratch, not even Aunt Jemima’s) with whipped cream and chocolate sauce, fresh coffee and a fucking joint on the side. Oh, and the best part? I got to eat it right in front of all ten of my roommates — they were practically foaming at the mouth. I’m not totally evil, though. I gave Mikaela’s baby some whipped cream when she had her back turned.

I guess there are worse places to be.

 

Love,

The runaway.

 

—

  
  


_ August 17, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Out with “You’ve Got: Maids”, in with “Red Rachel”. Whatever that means.

It’s a strip club.

We’re livin’ large now, Bethy.

 

Love,

“It’s an art form.”

 

—

 

_ August 18, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Okay, just to clarify: I’m not a stripper. Pretty embarrassing to admit, but they wouldn’t even hire me to be one. I just walk around and try to entice creepy, old, greasy men in suits into buying one of our many “artisan crafted beers”. I’m not even allowed to keep the tips I get — but sometimes I stuff them in my bra before anyone sees. At least I don’t have blisters on my hands anymore.

 

Love,

This will all be worth it someday… Right?

 

—

  
  
  
  


_ August 29, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Things are great here. Danny and I took the jet ski out on the water yesterday. When we got home, Danny's song played on the radio, and we slow danced until the sun came up. We even cracked open the Dom Pérignon. My agent was pissed at me for missing an audition with Marvel, but the casting crew wants me so bad that they let me reschedule.

Yeah, that was a nice dream.

No but really, today wasn’t so bad. Dave called me in on my one fucking day off, but I helped Trixie do her make up and she told me she could teach me how to work the pole if I ever want to. So I guess I have something to look forward to now... 

 

Love,

Sweet dreams are made of this


	2. part two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dear beth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot i'd written these, and when i stumbled upon them in my docs i CRIED... so here, cry with me :')
> 
> the dates are all different here because this was my original draft, but we're starting off from [THIS POST](https://softpine.tumblr.com/post/185360018514/letters-ill-never-send-october-1-2019-dear).

_ September 1, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Do you remember the time we went to that carnival? We were like fifteen, and we weren’t supposed to go off alone, but I made you sneak away with me while our parents were buying corn dogs? I said I would give you fifty bucks if you went on a ride with me, and you said “The carousel counts, no take backs!” So you went on the carousel, and I went broke. That’s all that happened, but sometimes I have these dreams where I kiss you…

How different would things be if I had really done it? I guess what I’m trying to ask is: How much of our lives are decided by our own choices vs. some unknown force of nature? Do we even make choices? Or do we get railroaded into doing things someone else wants us to do? Things we were always meant to do?

If choices do exist, I think I’ve made all the wrong ones.

 

Love,

The Philosopher

 

—

 

  
  


_ September 3, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

You know the song California Dreamin by The Mama’s and Papa’s? Danny was singing it when I came home from work today. “If I didn't tell her, I could leave today… California dreamin', on such a winter's day.” When he looked up and saw it was me that came in, he kept saying “I didn’t mean it like that” and I just laughed at him. I wasn’t mad. Why would I be? It’s true, anyway. If it weren’t for me being an impatient, stupid, drop out, we could’ve gone to DSV with fat loads of cash, courtesy of Danny’s parents, and skipped this fucking back-breaking hard work part. Danny  _ should _ leave me. One less mouth to feed. One less paycheck too, though. I don’t know what I’m even saying. I love him and he loves me. That’s all we were supposed to need.

 

Love,

Love is all you need.

 

—

  
  
  
  


_ September 10, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

I think Danny found his niche. He’s been working for the same company long enough that he’s gained some superiority over all the drifters that don’t stay long enough to make a name for themselves. Basically, he doesn’t have to do so much grunt work anymore. He gets to know his schedule two weeks in advance now, which means he can finally work out good times to perform at open mic nights at Charlie’s Pub. It’s right down the street from us. I try to make it whenever I can, but I work nights now (more sleazy guys = more drink sales = more money for me), so I don’t get to see him play very much. I don’t see him at all, really. It’s like we only cross paths in the mornings, when he’s about to go to work, and I’m about to go to bed — and at night, when I’m about to go to work, and he’s about to go to bed.

Some of our roommates go watch him, though. They always tell me what songs he sang. Apparently he gives me a shout out every night, whether I’m there or not. “This one’s for my care bear” he says. One time, when I was there, this girl turned to me and said “He’s hot  _ and _ romantic. What a catch!” and I said “Whoever his care bear is, I hope she knows how lucky she is.”

 

Love,

The lucky one.

 

—

 

_ September 12, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

“I've killed my world and I've killed my time. So where do I go? Where are you going to? I don't mind. If I live too long, I'm afraid I'll die. So I will follow you wherever you go, if your offered hand is still open to me.”

Danny sang that last night. I’ve never heard it before now. It made me realize everything he’s done for me — everything he’s had to give up, everything he would do for me in a heartbeat, if I just asked him to. And here I’ve been bitching to you — not even you, just a fucking piece of paper — about not having enough money, and being miserable at my job, and still fucking being in love with you. FUCK.

 

—

 

_ September 12, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Sorry. Kinda broke down there. Guess I just miss home. Miss you.

 

Love,

The offering hand.

 

—

 

_ September 14, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Okay, we really need to talk about your partying. Look, I’m not trying to judge you or anything — God knows I would be getting shit faced every night, if I could — but that’s me, not you. Since when do you post videos of yourself doing keg stands and making out with two girls in one night? Fuck, maybe I’m just jealous. That’s what college is all about, isn’t it?

 

Love,

Hope you’re safe.

 

—

_ September 17, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Carnival. Sneaking off. Carousel. Kissing.

Every. Night.

 

Love,

Get out of my head.

 

—

 

_ September 23, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

It’s officially fall, your favorite season. It’s not the same here, though. Nothing is. It’s funny, I really thought this place would feel like home someday. I keep waiting for it to happen. Like one day I would wake up and everything would feel right. This was supposed to be a better place. I was supposed to be happy here.

Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying the first day of fall. I can just imagine you putting on your biggest, comfiest sweater, and absolutely refusing to take it off, even when you’re sweating your ass off, because it’s never as cold out as we think it should be. You probably decided to “be bad” and buy yourself a pumpkin spice latte even though it’ll screw up your entire food plan. I wish I could be there to say “Screw it, the first day of fall doesn’t happen every day — get extra whipped cream.”

Fuck, Beth. I really miss you.

 

Love,

It’s hot as hell but I’m buying myself a PSL.

  
  
  


—

 

_ September 25, 2019. _

Dear Beth,

Yesterday I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to bring Danny lunch at work. I burnt the grilled cheese and added way too much ketchup, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

He was already on break when I got there. I heard one of the guys say “I bought the ring and everything” and then Danny — MY Danny — said “I don’t know if I want to get married” and his friend was like “Seriously? What happened?”

Yeah, what happened?

What the fuck happened?

I mean, I know I haven’t been the most romantic person lately. I’ve probably been pretty shitty to be around, if I’m being honest. But I’m working my ass off here. And it’s not like Danny is any better. Jesus, we see each other for an hour a day and all we do is get high and fuck. I can’t remember the last time either of us said we love each other. We still do, right? Yeah. We have to. I can’t do this without him. I can’t, Beth. I can’t do this.

 

Love,

Put a fucking ring on it.

 

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @softpine

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> @softpine


End file.
